


Something New

by InnerSpectrum



Series: Mystrade is Our Division Prompts [25]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Facebook: Mystrade is our Division Fic Prompts, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mystrade Prompt Challenge, Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 02:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17541020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: A very bored Sherlock wishes for something new to happen and regrets it. Be careful indeed...





	Something New

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts | New

It was 10.15 in the morning and Sherlock was in a word – you know the word.

He wished for something new to do.

John Watson was at surgery. Mrs. Hudson was visiting her sister. Molly had nothing for him at St. Bart’s and he had gone through all his current experiments at Baker Street. In fact, the refrigerator was clean as it should be for once. Lestrade had no new cases nor had come by with cold cases. And the criminal classes, ingrates that they are - were being decent.

He wished for something new.

Because the quiet was all so calm, so peaceful so – _hateful_.

He was slouched in his chair by the fireplace. No slouched is not correct for it still implied something of a posture. The boneless mass of listless appendages draped over the sides, that was more out of the seat than in it, should not be defined with so elegant a descriptive as slouched.

He wished for something.

In the magical way of when Fate, Karma and the universe decide to join forces it was a lesson of be mindful for when that which is wished for, is granted…

It was because he was in a lazy mood that Sherlock utterly could not be so arsed as to actually rise from his seat enough to reach for his mobile on the other side of the laptop. It was too draining an endeavor. That was how his long fingers, much too heavy for his wrist and palm to uphold their mighty weight, had plopped down on the keyboard of the laptop near him. His eyes had slid closed from the effort.

He wished…

Sherlock had been trying to break into his brother’s newest security software for the past few days. It was an idle pursuit more for the exercise of doing so than that he really cared or wanted to spy. As such his fingers had hit the keys in a way that audio engaged and he heard voices.

Two male voices in extremis. Two voices he recognized.

Mycroft and Greg.

“Oh god!”

“Oh yes! YES!”

Sherlock’s eyes popped open.

Light coming from the side informed the genius that video had engaged and he turned his head in oh so slow dread.

“Fuck me, love!”

An image of a man’s back and arse appeared.

A man’s _naked_ back and arse.

“Take it! Take it all!”

An undulating naked arse.

“More!”

An undulating naked arse balls deep in and out and in and out of another naked arse.

“Harder Daddy Myc! Harder!”

In his brother’s bedroom.

“Oh Greg! Fuuuuuuuuuckkk!”

In his brother’s bed.

 _NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!_ Sherlock’s mind screamed. Darth Vader would have been proud.

Sherlock sprang out of his chair in horror and grabbed the laptop as the visuals seared their ghastly scene onto his retinas.

Having no idea how he activated the device, the genius conversely had no idea how to deactivate it.

In desperation the laptop became airborne and crashed into the neighboring wall.

Still, he could not get the scene out of his mind palace.

The only thing he wished for now was removal of said scene from his mind and for it to return to its special spot in Hades from whence it came.

He would learn it in a few hours, but at the moment Sherlock had no way of knowing the nose of the bullet hole riddled face on his wall linked to that special spot in Hades from whence it came. It was better known as the Diogenes Club office of his brother, one Mycroft Holmes.

Two men watched the live feed of one hyperventilating Sherlock Holmes on his knees at Baker Street as the consulting detective desperately pressed the heels of his palms painfully into his eye sockets.

“Those actors you got to portray us are hilarious!” Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes. “I’m so glad I was here to enjoy the moment when he finally activated it. How long before he figures out it’s a fake?”

“Considering it was John’s laptop he just smashed to smithereens - a few hours I suspect.” Mycroft deduced.

“That long?” Greg asked surprised, then thought about it, “Well, he must first go buy a new one and spend the afternoon replacing all of Watson’s apps before the good doctor gets home and then will have to explain why. I guess that will keep him busy for a bit.”

“Oh, the best part is when he must bring it here to have the team secure it. He will try to sneak in here without my knowing, but they will contact me and he is going to have to face me to explain why.” Mycroft darkly chuckled in delight at the thought of the confrontation. 

“He wanted something new to do. He’s got it.” Mycroft clinked his lowball glass of very good scotch to Greg’s. 

"But am I going to get it later, Daddy?"  Lestrade asked like the mischievous boy he is as he leaned in for a kiss.

"All of it." Mycroft promised.


End file.
